“Why’s that?” I ask, attempting to sound nonchalant. I think I pull it off, but Asmo squeezes my hand.Be careful.
The wolf hybrid raises an eyebrow at me. “Things must be just fine in the Deer Court then, huh?” I don’t respond, not sure of what to say to that. The wolf hybrid leans closer and lowers his voice. “Just be careful, alright? Black-leather witches roam the streets now. But the night is when it gets bad. I would stay inside if I were you. The Cursed have begun to roam the streets when the sun goes down.”
I freeze. The cambions haunt my nightmares. But since I got aglimpse of the Cursed, images of hollow-eyed bears and wolves now chase me in my dreams. Knowing they’re now stationed throughout the kingdom and are controlled by black-leather witches—vicious, powerful witches who have climbed through the ranks and slaughtered countless—even their own kind—to secure their spot at the top…My stomach hollows.
“I’ve heard of black-leather witches…but the Cursed?” I play dumb. I will never forget the dread I felt when I saw them walking down the street in Briar’s Glen.
He scowls. “Undead woodland creatures,” he explains. “An abomination to the Mother and an affront to the sanctity of us all.”
“Shit,” Asmo mutters.
Shit, indeed.
The shop owner nods solemnly. “King Conall and Prince August themselves have been seen walking the streets more, keeping an eye on things. Scary times.”
A silence falls as Asmo pulls the coin purse from his pocket and begins counting out the total.
“Erm—is there any chance you know of any healing shops near here?” I ask the shopkeeper, then turn to Asmo. “What kind did your mother need?”
He sets the total on the counter and slides it across. “She needs something from the Fae healers?”
The shopkeeper tilts his head. “Hm…There’s an apothecary just down the way. Take a right when you exit and you’ll see it on the righthand side a few doors down. If they don’t have what you’re looking for, they should know how to help.”
“Thank you. And thanks for the warning,” Asmo says.
The shopkeeper dips his head in acknowledgement. “Wish I didn’t have to give it.”
We throw our coats on before we exit the shop. The door slams shut behind us, sending a final gust of warm air toward us as if in farewell. Asmo reaches for my hand and laces his fingers between mine. My cheeks warm, despite the freezing temperature.
“Wit—”
“Not here,” Asmosays firmly.
True to the shopkeeper’s word, the apothecary is exactly three shops down, with a door the color of pine that reminds me of home. The scent of earth and spices wraps around me as we enter—cinnamon and chamomile and other scents I can’t place. Wooden shelves line every inch of the walls, filled with glass bottles and jars sitting in neat rows.
A gray wolf sits beside the counter, yellow eyes tracking our movements. My heart leaps into my throat when I see it.
“Hello,” I say tentatively to the wolf, but it remains still as a statue.
Asmo pulls the slip of paper from his pocket and begins to survey the walls of jars. A door on the back wall opens, and a figure steps through, hunched over something as they walk backward through the door.
“Need some help with that?” Asmo asks.
The figure whirls, crystal-blue eyes wide, and glass bottles go tumbling from the top of the wooden box in her hands. “Oh n?—”
On instinct, I send out a burst of magic that cradles the bottles mid-air.
She releases a sigh of relief and says, “Thank you so much. That would have been a pain to clean up.” She walks to the wooden counter and sets the remaining items on its surface. “You can set them here, if you don’t mind.”
I float the remaining items to rest on the counter. “Close call,” I say lamely.
The female huffs a laugh and straightens. “Sorry about that. What can I do for you? Looking for anything in particular?”
“Yes, actually,” Asmo says. “We’re looking for something with…” He glances at the paper in his hands. “Agligella, or any healing extract with Fae magic. Do you happen to have something like that?”
“What for?” She begins placing the glass bottles on shelves behind the counter, but she doesn’t look away from us. She must know this place like the back of her hands.
“My mother fell and has a nasty wound that won’t seem to go away,” Asmo says. The lie snags against my net.
